


The War Before the Peace (Unfinished)

by hellfire37



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Closeted!Dean, M/M, Unfinished, abandoned, but if enough positive feedback, possible reopening, winged!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 11:47:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18690865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellfire37/pseuds/hellfire37
Summary: When Dean Winchester is drafted into the army against his will, he doesn’t know what to expect. But he certainly never thought that being captured by demons was part of the plan...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is unfinished!!! turn away!! if you don’t like that sort of stuff!! also, warning: drunk- ish John, if that gets you- sorry, first post. im new please don’t hurt me thanks for even dropping by!
> 
>  
> 
> also, no beta- all mistakes are my own
> 
>  
> 
> seriously, thanks!

The war lasted for five years before Dean was born.  
Five years of blood, and fighting, and war.  
And because of this, Dean Winchester had known nothing else besides the constant fear of death. For himself, for his family, for his entire race.  
Dean was now on the dawn of his twentieth birthday. The war hadn’t ended. Or paused, for that matter.  
Yet despite all that, his brother still found energy to wake him up at an ungodly hour with the biggest, most stupid smile in the history of stupid smiles.  
“Dean. Dean. Dean, wake up! It’s your birthday today!”  
Dean just rolled over with a groan. “What are you, five? The last time I was actually excited for my birthday morning was- Oh, wait, I forgot. Never.”  
His stupid(stupid, stupid, stupid) brother kept on with infuriating positivity. Kind of like a cute puppy, with his long mane of hair. If the puppy decided to take an interest in lawyer… stuff… for a living. “Come on, Dean! We have a surprise for you downstairs!”  
By we, Sam(or Samantha, if Dean was in a really bad mood) implied that John had actually gone off the bottle long enough to choose/make/steal whatever was awaiting him downstairs. However, Dean couldn’t remember the last time that John- his father- had even been sober long enough to regret his decision to become a stay-at-home drunk. So, no. By we, Sam really meant himself.  
“Really, Sam? Resorting to bribes? It’s way too early to be having any sort of conversation…”  
“But Dean-”  
“Oh, right, I forgot to put it in Samspeak. Fuck off.”  
After that, Sam left. Dean sighed and burrowed farther into his bad excuse of a bed. Still better than nothing, though. The wood was old, and filled with holes from…. some sort of bug. The sheets were thin. The mattress was stiff and had a couple springs sticking out the sides. The pillow- he didn’t have a pillow. His jacket, however, could be used as one. And it was actually quite comfortable, if you remembered to sleep on the inside lining. Otherwise, the zippers would imprint on your face for around four hours. Dean knew from experience.  
Finally alone, Dean starts to drift off again.  
Unbidden, thoughts of before the war started to creep into his muddled mind. They aren’t really thoughts- just memories of what his mother told him about it before she…  
No. Not today.  
This, more than anything, prompts Dean to raise his head off of his “pillow” and swing his legs out of bed. Thin sunlight trickles through what remains of the two windows on either side of his bed. His dresser stands off to the side, looking even sadder than usual when a ray of sun reaches through and bathes it in a buttery-yellow light. Though he knows it’s unreasonable-it is his birthday, and he should be able to push through, if only to show Sam that he’s okay- the dresser only serves to make him mad. The sun should not shine in such a happy manner, not with the way the world is right now. Well, Sam shouldn’t be so enthusiastic over another year of Dean and him living their entire lives in a war zone, but. There he is.  
With a long-suffering sigh, Dean manages to stand up and get dressed. His “pillow” shifts into its original form- black leather jacket. Dean was able to scrounge it up while on a case in what used to be Missouri. Or, as he and Sam fondly call it, Misery.  
Trudging his way into the hall, he makes his way downstairs. The floors squeak his approach to Sam, who is… sitting on their couch next to a coherent John?  
Sam looks a lot worse than he did… however long ago he came up to get Dean. Twenty minutes? Forty, tops. He sits, leaning on his freakishly long legs and tapping his fingers together in an irregular rhythm. His eyes dart around a bit before coming to rest on Dean. He opens his mouth to say something, then opts for staring at his hands instead.  
That’s weird, Dean thinks. Sammy almost never gets flustered.  
“Happy birthday, Dean,” says Sam. Whatever John pulled while Dean was asleep, he is going to regret doing whatever it is he did to make Sam look so nervous. Compared to the excited puppy, this is more a dog who has been found digging a hole and has been scolded before, and expects punishment.  
John makes no such greetings. “Dean.”  
He says it in a deep, baritone voice. Used to hearing it angry, Dean is surprised to detect- a hint of sadness? “Morning. What’s got you guys all down in the dumps so early on my special day?” He says it as a joke. He tries to, at least. But near the end, his forced peppiness falters.  
Sam tries first. “So, get this-”  
Before he can even get out a full sentence, John interrupts.  
“You’ve been drafted.”  
“D- What the hell is drafted?!” Dean splutters.  
John is unperturbed. “On everyone’s twentieth birthday, names are drawn to go into service. They happened to draw your name.”  
With a shaky laugh, Dean tugs his sleeve uncomfortably. “Come on, Dad, they stopped doing that years ago. With the demons being able to possess anyone-”  
“Everyone is required to get an anti-possession tattoo.”  
Dean blinks. “Okay? And, what, they just expect me to drop everything and join the military?”  
John continues to sit, unfazed. “Yes.”  
A bit taken back, Dean just looks between the two of them, incredulous. “Who’s going to take care of Sammy? And don’t say you, we both know-”  
“Dean, I can take care of myself! Just because you’re my older brother doesn’t mean you can dictate my life. Trust me, for once.” Sam stood up to make his statement,and Dean realizes- his younger brother is actually taller than him now. It’s such a small thing. But to Dean, who practically raised him, it’s…  
Dean shakes his head. “No, I can’t… I can’t just leave you, Sammy.”  
Sam slumps back down onto the couch. He sighs, rubbing his face with his hands. John still hasn’t moved a muscle.  
“Your experience will come in handy out there.” John is saying this like it’s already decided, that Dean is just going to be okay with leaving Sam alone with him, and maybe- maybe never coming back. “You just might find yourself captain before too long.”  
The world was tilting. Or was that just Dean? He stumbles back as if punched. The wall of the staircase met him unexpectedly. Was this real? Sam finally looks up at him, concerned. Dean finally grounds out, “I- I need a- a moment…”  
The last thing he saw was Sam’s sad (if a little betrayed) face.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - -  
Sixteen years ago~

Years and years before the war started, the world was actually a good place.  
Flowers bloomed. People smiled. The sky was blue.

And there was peace.  
Albeit tentative and fragile, but… still. Peace.  
Whenever Mary thought about it, a sad smile would creep onto her face. The face of someone who had had something beautiful, only to have it ripped away.  
Dean leaped into Mary’s lap and eagerly awaited her stories of a world that was different. Whenever she spoke of before, her eyes would brighten, and Dean would sit with rapt attention. At times, John would join them. He never said anything; just sat and gazed at Mary.  
Tonight, as Mary sat on the floor of Dean’s bedroom, Dean was surprised to see his baby brother, Sam, in her arms. He grinned. As the big brother, he had always felt the need to protect Sam(or as much as a four year old can protect anything).  
As she slowly eased her way into a sitting position next to Dean on his bed, Dean was bouncing with anticipation. “Momma! Will you tell me about the angels?”  
A laugh, light as a feather, fell from Mary’s mouth. “Dean, you always ask about the angels.”  
“That’s because I like the angels,” he said with a pout. “They’re super cool. And they can fly.”  
Shaking her head with a smile, she gently hands Sam into Dean’s awaiting arms. “Fine. As long as the next story is one I choose.” Knowing he had won, Dean nodded eagerly. He carefully reached out his small arms, and as soon as he held on to his baby brother,, he quieted. Though awake, Sam was quiet besides the occasional burble. When one of his small hands reached up, Dean held out his finger with a soft smile on his face. Mary watched the proceedings with a pained look. But neither son noticed.  
Blinking out of her thoughts, Mary gave a small clap. “Okay. Are you ready?”  
Trying to express his enthusiasm without the use of one of his hands was surprisingly hard. Instead, Dean nodded, his eyes shining.  
“Once upon a time, the universe was empty. Nothing existed. But one day, within that nothingness, something appeared.” Here, she paused for dramatic effect.  
Dean willingly took the bait. “What was it?”  
“Creation. And its twin, Destruction.”  
Creation was curious and open minded, and wanted to share the universe with others. But there was nobody. So, using its power, it created another.”  
Despite hearing this many times before, Dean still looked awed. “What happened then?”  
Mary smiled at his curiosity. “The other being was made in the image of Creation and Destruction, and for the briefest of times, the three existed in harmony. For that was what Creation had made. Peace.”  
But soon, Destruction became jealous. It had thrived in the time before Peace, and, with mal intent, Destruction set about orchestrating the end of it. (“Mama, what’s… orc-est...orc-es-grating?” “Shhh, Dean, let me tell the story. If you don’t, I won’t tell about the angels.” Silence.)  
Borne of this was War.  
And, sure enough, when it learned of its sibling’s intent, Creation raged against Destruction. While they fought, new ideas were formed. Conquest and Famine were the first to appear. But soon, a fourth idea came. It called itself Death. And it was the most powerful of all the ideas. For, you see, it knew that one day, they would all join it, never to return. This made both Creation and Destruction extremely uneasy, and both agreed to put aside their arguments.  
For now.  
Wishing for a place to think, Creation started to manipulate a fold in the universe, pushing its mind to the limit, and soon, there was a star. The star shone, and with it came a new Idea: Light. And with Light, came Darkness.  
Light shone with a warm brilliance, and Darkness was the one who devoured it if it strayed far enough. Now, with the universe bathed in Light, Creation came to realize how vastly empty it was. So, in the new company of Light, Creation set about doing what it did best: creating.  
Soon enough, Creation had built what it liked to call a planet. It invited its siblings Life and Light to fill the world with animals and plants, to create a community to call this new place home. The other Ideas grew jealous of Light and Life, and, quietly, began plotting to invade this new utopia. And down on the new planet, Creation was unsatisfied by the plants and animals. So, quietly, out of sight, Creation started crafting a new being. Starting small, Creation slowly, slowly honed its skill. And soon, they were ready.  
Creation called them Angels.  
They were small, smaller than its siblings, yet powerful. Not as powerful as their creator, but more so than some of the weaker Ideas. Creation had given them wings in image of a bird’s, strong enough to carry them through the skies of their new world.  
Each pair of wings were unique to their owner. Their plumage came in all the colors of the rainbow. But there was one angel whose wings were darker than the void from which the Ideas were born. You see, the angels had a hierarchy: the darker the color of their wings, the more powerful the angel. This angel’s name was Lucifer. And despite its claims, Creation favored him over all the others. Not because of his power; rather, because Creation was vain. And Lucifer loved him more than all the others.  
So, Creation tasked Lucifer with overseeing the protection of the life in their new home, and doling out judgement if he saw fit.  
With time, Creation honed its craft, designing more and more effective beings to dwell on his planet. But each time, something struck Creation as being wrong. It took a small eternity for it to realize what was bothering it. The creatures did not feel like it did. They simply… were.  
Seeing an opportunity to finally usurp their sibling, the other Ideas sent forth Destruction under the guise of friendship to… help. Destruction came to Creation with a smile, and offered its aid. Though wary, Creation agreed to allow this.  
Together, they crafted the perfect means of gaining the ability to feel.  
This thing, this… luminescent, sentient thing was named a soul.  
But the animals already present on the earth weren’t strong enough to support the raw power of the soul. So, Creation made another species, the last it would ever make: humans.


	2. middle scene!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel escaped. But at what cost? Searching refuge, they hide in a forest and bide their time...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a random bit I wrote while I was bored? so, it’s the same story, just... not... in order... 
> 
> again, no beta! all mistakes are mine!
> 
> thanks for stopping by! have a great day!

The thick pine boughs filter the light until the ground, littered with the tree’s needles, is cast in almost permanent shadow. After a short trek, Dean discovers a small brook that feeds into a large, crystal clear pool. In the shadows, small flashes of silver are all that betray a small school of fish in the shallows. To one side, a tree grows over another, rotting tree. The roots have grown to form a small cave-like structure, curving like the rib age of a giant beast. It is here that Dean and Castiel decide to make camp for the night.  
The two gravitate around each other in uncomfortable silence, wanting to talk about what had happened. But neither knew how. So, they made excuses to escape the campsite, avoiding eye contact as much as possible. Dean leaves under the guise of collecting wood, and soon enough, he sets about building a firepit (Just because he’s using it as an excuse doesn’t mean he can’t at least do it right, he thinks). After a while, Dean is able to make a warm, albeit small, blaze. The fire had been an excuse to keep his mind and hands busy, but now that he was done, his thoughts wandered. They drifted to the angel at Dean’s back, and his loyalty to... to Dean, of all people(and multidimensional celestial wavelengths of intent). Dean especially wanted to know how Cas- to whom his family was so important- had… killed one of his brothers in order to aid their escape.  
Eventually, the silence has become near unbearable. Unable to take it any longer, Dean clears his throat. Looking up from where he had been “collecting wood”, Castiel blinks confusedly. “What is it, Dean?” Castiel’s wings, tall and elegant behind him, curved seemingly without thought towards Dean. But enough to distract Dean long enough that the silence from before started to creep back into their conversation.  
“Uh.” Now that he had the angel’s attention, Dean didn’t know what to say.  
“You appears to be at a loss for words.”  
Dean scoffs. “No shit, Cas.”  
Castiel’s wings flare back, and he shifts uncomfortably. “Should I…?”  
With a shake of his head, Dean responds, “No, it’s… it’s me. Back there, I froze up. And you… you killed your brother to get us out.” Sighing, Dean rubs his face with his hands. “I can’t imagine… if Sam...”  
“You would have left me.”  
Surprised at Cas’s blandness, Dean avoids his eyes. He clasps his hands, but quickly resettles them on his knees. How can Cas do that? Cut through years’ worth of putting up walls, hiding everything, and just… be okay with what he sees? Dean knows he’s no saint; most of the stuff he’s done is downright awful. But compared to some of the people he’s met over the last year…  
“Yeah. Yeah, I would’ve.”  
Instead of throwing a fit, leaving, unable to bear the company of such a disgraceful… human, Castiel just nods, his wings relaxing and curling back in, resettling even smaller against the angel’s back. Dean blinks at the lack of reaction. It’s not like he had expected the calm, collected angel to start yelling, but… yelling would make it better. Make it easier for him to stoke his anger at Castiel into a roaring flame. But with this simple acknowledgement, Dean’s anger instead simmers down, curling in his gut, warming him from the inside. Huh. He’s never had whatever this is happen before. Wonder what this is about.

**Author's Note:**

> you... actually read my thing. thanks for reading my thing! leave kudos or a suggestion down below! I’m bored, so any asks are welcome distractions- no guarantee though...
> 
> thanks so much!!!!


End file.
